A man of honor
Israel fifth president Yitzhak Navon, who passed away on Friday, did not like to be called retired president. He preferred to be described with whatever title he held at any given time. He was a man of honor, who had been honored and was worthy of honor.
He had the nobility of a lord. In 1921, he was born into 300 years of family history in Jerusalem. Unlike the young fighters of his generation who resisted the British rule, he was a man of books.
Navon joined the Haganah, the Jewish military during the pre-state era, but in his nature and mannerisms he was not a man of conflict but rather a sort of an unceremonious prince with an admirable command of the language.
Despite serving as a combat-supporting intelligence agent in the Haganah, he was also a diplomat. Among his group of Haganah youths, who rallied around and admired Israel's first Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion, he was an unusual figure.
Not only was he a "pure Sephardi" Jew from Jerusalem -- the only Sephardi among a group of prominent Ashkenazi men such as Jerusalem Mayor Teddy Kollek, renowned scientist Professor Ernst David Bergmann, and senior political and military figures like Moshe Dayan and Shimon Peres -- he also did not rush into political battles like many of his colleagues. It was only in the final years of his political career that he found himself embroiled in clashes.
Navon was a man of many virtues; he was an outstanding diplomat; he managed the busiest bureau in the world (Ben-Gurion's office); he knew how to conduct himself wisely around gifted leaders; he had a wonderful sense of humor; he had a predilection for education -- one that only came into play later in his life; and he had a particular political sensibility, also developed later in his career, that was always accompanied with a smile.
His peers' fondness had its advantages: A year after Likud was voted into power for the first time, Navon was not only elected to serve as Israel's fifth president, he ran for the position unopposed. The disadvantage: When his presidential term ended, he considered running against Shimon Peres for the leadership of the Labor party, but Peres' angry reaction prompted him to back down.
Navon was seen as a dove among hawks. He was always grateful for the opportunity to serve under Ben-Gurion and never questioned the latter's decisions. Furthermore, he never attempted to counteract the Likud save for one unusual incident: when he demanded a commission of inquiry into the Sabra and Shatila massacre during the first Lebanon War in 1982, thus sentencing then-Defense Minister Ariel Sharon to political exile for several years. This move also set a precedent for Israeli presidents to intervene in political procedures.
Above all, Navon always remained true to his pen. He was invited to plan the events that marked the 500th anniversary of the expulsion of the Jews from Spain -- the same expulsion that prompted his own family to make the journey to the Promised Land and settle in Jerusalem.
Ultimately, when he decided not to run for a Knesset seat in the beginning of the 1990s, he did not sound angry or disappointed for not being called back to lead his party. Instead, he went back to his life's true passion -- penning the musical Bustan Sefardi ("Sephardic Garden") -- that same garden of Sephardi folklore that he carried in his heart and wanted to perpetuate. Indeed, once he put it down on paper, it was no longer a part of reality but a part of the collective memory, which continues to be staged to this day at Habima, Israel's national theater in Tel Aviv.
טעינו? נתקן! אם מצאתם טעות בכתבה, נשמח שתשתפו אותנו